1965 (Recycled)

(I once co-blogged with a very interesting South Carolina attorney who found the Mother of his Children banging the drunk next door and left her, lit out to Vegas and became a poker pro shacking up with various young hotties. Anyway, it was fun while it lasted. I recently discovered that the archives there are still available to me and am “recycling” some of the better posts. While they’re not necessarily NRx in nature, some contain still-relevant social commentary and even positively prescient predictions of the future [which is now, now]. They’ll be headed and tagged “recycled.” They often came with pictures of pretty girls. Enjoy.)

Originally published September, 2010:

smokin1965.

Yeah, the good ol’ days when you could just enjoy your goddam cigarette without some antismoking nazi on your ass about it.

Look at her: Living in the moment, in the music, not worrying about filing a freakin’ Environmental Impact Statement.

I’m feeling a little nostalgic right now. Nineteen Sixty-five, I was five years old and spent a lot of time with my grandparents. Grandpa used to sit in his easy chair, drink brandy and smoke his Camels, when he wasn’t smoking his pipe. He said so many, many funny things, certainly inappropriate for small children. My brother and I used to laugh until we were sick.

He died at 66 of smoking-related diseases (of course) but while he lived, he lived. He sure as fuck didn’t spend any time worrying about radon in the basement, second-hand smoke, global climate disruption, seat belt laws, his weight, his abs, political correctness, fat grams or how many calories were in his fucking Hamms beer.

We’re all going to die. Smoking will, statistically, make one likely to die a few years earlier. To gain those years, what price have we paid in letting the Feminized State intrude on out private lives?